Liana's Dream // Tommy Shelby

65

Tears burn at my eyes and I wipe them away, refusing to let them fall. Refusing to waste a single one on Greta. Or on Tommy, for that matter.

I don't know that that's fair. I don't know if any of this is his fault.

More than anyone's, it's my own.

I reach the train station and scramble through my pockets for coins, my winnings from the game against John.

***

The London station clock says it's two in the morning when I arrive.

Morning, Liana.

The station's quiet. Almost empty. No rushing crowd of people, no pressure against my chest. No Tommy. But still, I feel him everywhere. Like this entire route is tainted by his presence. The station, the street, the carriage I clamber into. Every set of head lamps we pass churns my stomach.

Maybe it's not London that's tainted by memories of him. Maybe it's me, carrying what we shared. What I gave to him.

It's probably better this way. A harsh reminder that a future can never exist between us. This is what he was always destined to do. He's just been given a push.

A push I didn't see coming.

A push on the wrought iron gates to King Maine's house. I falter on the path, staring at the building. Then, a caravan on the grounds catches my eye. If Bonnie's asleep, he'll be out there. I'm sure of it. There might just be a snoring Aberama in the way.

I reach the caravan. The doors are wide open, fresh air swirling through the stifling heat, and there's no Aberama. Of all the things, this is what makes my throat close up with tears the worst. Just Bonnie. Asleep until I tap on the door. He wakes up and stares at me for a moment, blinking, like he's trying to blink himself awake.

"Liana? Are you alright?"

He takes me in his arms and I rest my head on his chest. Bleary eyed. Hollow. Feverish.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I didn't know where else to go."

"It's okay." He kisses my head and it feels more brotherly than anything that Tommy's ever done. "What happened?"

"Hamlet's getting married. He's got a baby on the way." My throat clenches around the words. Bonnie's hold tightens.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I should have been around more, I should have fucking visited after Dad said you came—"

"Bonnie, it's not your fault."

He lays me down on the bed and sets to work outside, lighting a small fire and putting on a kettle. I pull my knees up to my chest. Pick at the frayed edge of the blanket.

I say, "I shouldn't have woken you. You need to sleep."

"It's too bloody hot to sleep," he points out. "Is it this bad in Birmingham?"

"Less muggy, I think."

He nods. "I miss it."

"Says the man burning a fire."

He gives a small smile and takes the kettle off as it begins to whistle. "Hot drink will cool you down."

"That sounds like a lie."

"Honest. Maine's been forcing me to do it, to get through training. It works."

I take a mug of tea from him and lean into him as he joins me on the bed. After a small sip, I sigh. "I really missed you," I say quietly.

"I missed you, too. Was hoping to surprise you this weekend. Come see you after making weight." He shifts us both into a more comfortable position. "I thought you could stay here for a few days after the fight. If you want."

"I'd like that." I dig my thumb pad into the rim of my cup. "Have you been seeing your Ophelia?"

Bonnie's still. Silent. I can feel the breath held in his lungs like a cage. Just when I think he might pass out of oxygen deprivation, he says, "My Ophelia's a Hamlet."

I soften against him. "I know." It's my turn to be anxious. Terrified. Waiting until he relaxes to say, "My Hamlet's Tommy."

He rests his head on top of mine. "I know."

I don't bother asking how he knows and he doesn't ask me. We just sit like this. In comfortable silence. Not for the first time, I wish beyond measure that things could be different. A simple love. A warm cup of tea during a drought. A wrought-iron gate and a caravan with open doors. I don't need to hide. Don't need to flinch at every sound and movement. If we're caught here, I'll get no more than a raised eyebrow. Maybe a gentle reprimand for disrupting Bonnie's sleep.

"How's training going?" I ask quietly.

"Good. Tough. I start cutting for weight tomorrow."

"I don't know how you do it," I murmur.

"And I don't know how you make your horses walk funny."

I try not to roll my eyes. "It's easier than you'd think. It just takes patience. I don't have to fast for days on end then eat three whole fish every hour."

Bonnie laughs. "Maybe you should. Come fighting with me."

"I've been training with Arthur."

"You'll have to show me." He places his mug on the table behind us and lies down beside me. "You know you can stay here. As long as you want. Forever, if you want. We'll move again once the matches are over... But you'll always be welcome with me."

I place my mug beside his and lie down, too. "Thanks, Bonnie."

"You're my best friend."

"You're mine, too."

I lie awake, even as his soft snores eventually fill the caravan. It's a tempting offer. I wonder how long it would take to forget about the Shelby's. To forget about Tommy. How long it would take to stop hurting so much.

But the thought of leaving is too much to bear. Polly, who took me on for nothing. Taken me in like one of her own. Warned me that this would happen, and tried to steer me straight.

Arthur, who's loathe to let me more than ten paces out of his sight. Who taught me how to take a hit as much as deal one.

John, who couldn't keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it. Who tried rallying his brothers to march down here and demand Bonnie marry me — the thought is almost laughable. And also burns tears to my eyes that have nothing to do with Tommy.

Ada, with her magazines and the perfect plaits she weaves into my hair. The jokes we can share with just a look.

Even little Finn, swearing before he can talk. His wide smile and the way he still grips my thumb when he's sleepy.

Charlie. Curly. The horses. I can't leave Secret. I won't leave Dream.

When Bonnie wakes up, he understands without me needing to say a word. The sun's begun to rise already, streaking hot and golden over the ground.

"You come down anytime," Bonnie says, squeezing me in a tight hug. "I'll see you after the fight. We'll talk properly. Alright?"

"Good luck for making weight," I say, squeezing him back.

"Here." He presses a necklace into my hand. "My dad took it from the neck of a man he couldn't kill. Said it'll always bring protection and luck."

I turn it over in my fingers. A three-sided dagger pendant, animal heads carved into the golden handle. Hung from a chain of pure gold. I can feel the power emanating from it, feel it searing through every bone of my hand. This is special. "Bonnie, I can't take this, I—"

"Yes, you can." He smiles. "I had a dream about it."